


A Michael Valenti One Shot

by MayGlenn



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Aftermath of Attempted Exorcism, Another Happy Childhood AU, Canon-Typical Past Child Abuse, Gen, Jim Valenti is in the doghouse where he belongs, Michael Valenti AU, OG References, Please Let This Be A One Shot, sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: “Michelle, it’s Jim. Pleasedonthangup, Chelle, don’t—”Dial tone.“Shit.” Jim looked nervously at the curly-headed kid sitting in the car next to him. The kid was scared as hell, but he had a good gameface, so he wasn’t even crying.
Relationships: Michael Guerin & Kyle Valenti
Comments: 12
Kudos: 75





	A Michael Valenti One Shot

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is basically a cry for help that I didn't want to delete outright. It was written before we learned about Michelle Valenti being being there in '97 and caring so much about those kids in 2x9 😭 and before I started [It Takes A Village](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24256735) with Haloud. Someone (not me!) should take this idea and go with it because I think Michael and Kyle would be hilariously terrible brothers but would make each other better in the end. And maybe keep Jim from violating the Geneva Convention maybe. 
> 
> _This story takes place in 2004._

“Michelle, it’s Jim. Pleasedon’thangup, Chelle, don’t—” 

Dial tone. 

“Shit.” Jim looked nervously at the curly-headed kid sitting in the car next to him. The kid was scared as hell, but he had a good gameface, so he wasn’t even crying. 

“Sorry,” he said, as a formality, though he figured the kid had heard worse. “I’m just, uh…hey, keep that ice there. You want a coke or something?” 

The kid shook his head. His whole body was shaking. Jim wanted to reach out to him, but every time he so much as moved the kid flinched, so he didn’t. 

Jim dialed home again. “Michelle, please, there is a kid involved.” 

This gave her pause. She sighed. “You want me to call Cathy?”

“No! No no no, do not call Cathy, please. We’ve got, uh. There’s.” He glanced apologetically at the white kid, took a guess, and switched to Spanish. “[Look, he’s here with me now. He’s not safe in the group home I just pulled him out of. Religious freaks. He needs to not be in the system. Right now.]” 

“[What the fuck, Jim?]” 

“[I know, I know. They were trying to exorcise—]”

“I understand Spanish, officer,” Michael Guerin offered, seeming to come alive all at once, like a toy animating. 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Jim said, and then, into the phone. “Can we keep him, just for a few days? He goes to school with Kyle and everything. He’s one of the orphans from ‘97...”

Jim knew that was Michelle’s weakness, and she knew he knew it. 

“Fine,” Michelle said, and hung up. 

There was silence in the truck. “How’s your arm, son?” 

“I’m not your son,” Michael said, bristling like only an abused thirteen-year-old could. Perfectly well-adjusted thirteen-year-olds could still be little shits, as he knew perfectly well. He had one at home. “You don’t know anything about me.” 

“Sorry. How’s the arm, Mr. Guerin?” 

“You’re not arresting me?” 

Jim shifted in his seat, trying to ignore how the boy recoiled from him. “I heard screaming and walked into a government-sponsored foster home to see a mad priest trying to perform an exorcism on a minor Ward of the State. So, no, I’m not arresting you. I’m going to get you somewhere safe and I’d really like to go back and arrest the whole damn—” 

But Michael still looked terrified. Sometimes, kids in these situations, he knew, feared that the people who hurt them would find them again, but Jim knew that that wasn’t what Michael was afraid of. 

“I saw the furniture moving, yes. I think anyone would do the same, in similar circumstances, if they could. I’d like to talk with you about that, off the record, if you don’t mind. But I know about, ah.” Jim pinched his brow like he had a headache. “I know about aliens.”

Michael looked up, terrified, but beyond that, Jim thought he almost looked  _ hopeful _ . 

“I swear to you, Michael, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” 

And, poor kid, he just needed someone, anyone, to give a damn about him, so Michael believed him. 

…

“Before you expect someone to trust you, you have to trust them first.” 

Jim and Michael were seated across the dining room table from one another, ice cream dishes empty in front of them. Michael’s arm was wrapped up, and he was clean and wearing some of Kyle’s clothes. Michelle was helping Kyle pick up his room (the only reason Jim was currently allowed to be here) (they were on the “off again” part of their relationship), so Jim and Michael had a moment alone to chat. 

“So I’m going to tell you what I know.”

Jim told Michael everything he knew about Jesse Manes and Project Shepherd. About 1947, about finding Michael, Max, and Isobel wandering in the desert in 1997, about everything he’d gotten out of Manes before Manes decided he was too soft to be in his line of work. 

“What line of work is that? I thought he was in the Army,” Michael asked. He was playing with the edge of the bandage, fraying the gauze, unable to keep still. 

“No. He is using the US Military to hunt, and I think detain, extraterrestrials. I’ve been trying to shut him down for years now. When we found you, the three of you, no one thought you could be aliens, because you were so young, and the crash was so long ago, my dad worked on it…” Jim sighed. “When I saw you throwing furniture—”

“Who knows? Maybe I am possessed by the devil,” Michael spat. 

“Oh, no, son,” Jim said with a smile. “I know exactly who the devil is possessing right now, and it is  _ not  _ you.” 

The kitchen was quiet for a moment. 

Finally, Michael spoke. “I-I need to talk to my—er, Max. Max Evans.” 

“Yeah. I wouldn’t mind talking to him, either.” 

…

Kyle peeked out at Michael talking with his dad out in the dining room as he tidied up his room, the one he would be sharing with Michael for a few days. He didn’t mind. He kinda always wanted a sibling. What he  _ resented  _ was having to clean the bottom bunk of his bed so it could be used as an actual bed and not a convenient place to throw his stuff. 

“I never see you playing with these toys, how do they get everywhere?” Michelle asked, teasing her son, who was definitely too old to be teased. 

“ _ Mom _ . They’re not toys. This is sports memorabilia. You don’t play with it!” 

“Of course,” she said, with a wry smile. “Sorry. We could put up a shelf to put them on?” 

“No, it’s okay, we can just put them in a box. Is Michael gonna live with us? He’s kinda...weird.” 

Michelle laughed. “ _ You’re _ kind of weird, you know.” 

“ _ Moooomm _ .” 

“I don’t have to stay—” Michael was stammering at the door, suddenly. “I can sleep on the couch, or—wherever.” 

“Mijo,” Michelle said, opening her arms, but Michael didn’t move, like he didn’t know what the universal come here for a hug from mother sign  _ meant _ . And that jarred her, badly. “Come inside, Michael. You’re very welcome here.” 

Kyle, who had turned bright red, also stammered: “Yeah, man. Sorry. I was just, uh. I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about, uh. Some other kid. You’re cool, man. You can share my room with me. Is it true they tried to exorcise you?”

“Kyle Manuel Valenti!” 

“What? That’s  _ cool _ , mom!” 

It worked by some metric, because Michael grinned. “Yeah. Didn’t work, though. You still want to share your room with me?” 

“Are demons any good at Language Arts, and would they be willing to help with my homework?” 

Michelle threw her hands up. “I give up,” she said, and left while the boys giggled and talked about a hated Ms. Topolsky who taught Language Arts as a form of torture. She returned with a fresh set of sheets. 

They were the cleanest things Michael had ever smelled. 


End file.
